


Perfect Place

by dayindisguise



Series: Unstable!Eames [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:33:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayindisguise/pseuds/dayindisguise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even on his good days, he can’t compare to the porcelain blonde in the painting he keeps. He’s only finished the painting once, and despite Arthur’s insistence to throw it out, he kept it. It’s rolled together with their perfect home. It’s kept safe where Arthur won’t get to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Place

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my Unstable!Eames verse, wherein Eames has manic depression. I am not a psychologist or manic depressive, so I can't know how it feels to live with this mental illness. I do not mean any offense by my writing.

Every day, Eames goes outside and he stands in his backyard, his arms are wrapped around himself and he wishes he could see rolling hills and forest, and he wishes he couldn’t hear cars and people and that the road wasn’t paved. Arthur tells him they’ll go there one day, they’ll find that perfect place one day. Eames just looks at him, and he tries to smile but Arthur knows better than to accept that smile so he wraps his arms around Eames, and he rests his head against his shoulder. He tells Eames to close his eyes and imagine the hills and to imagine the forest, the little stream running along their property, to forget the sound of cars and chattering people, airplanes, buses. They’re all gone and it’s just quiet. Eames looks less miserable with his eyes closed, and he leans back into Arthur and doesn’t say a word because Arthur knows everything he could say by now.

He’s painted this picture a thousand times with his words, his brushes. The only picture that even comes close to being finished as many times is the portrait of Arthur from behind with his arm around the waist of a slim blonde woman, walking on the sidewalk in New York, an umbrella above him. This is the life he always wanted for Arthur, someone who would be devoted to making him happy. To be with the woman that Arthur’s parents wanted him to marry. He’s left it unfinished on canvases around the apartment, around their house. When he’s down, it flows.

Eames knows Arthur can’t stand it, that he hates it, but he paints it anyway. He draws it anyway because it’s what he wishes he could give to Arthur. He wishes he could give him his family back, his life back, that he could be the perfect boyfriend. Even when he’s having a good day, when he can wake up and smile at Arthur, really smile, when his beloved comes home from work and he’s managed to make dinner for the two of them without having a meltdown. Even on his good days, he can’t compare to the porcelain blonde in the painting he keeps. He’s only finished the painting once, and despite Arthur’s insistence to throw it out, he kept it. It’s rolled together with their perfect home. It’s kept safe where Arthur won’t get to it.

Eames isn’t so sure if he could ever live in the red brick house with the rolling hills and the forest off in the distance, with the quiet and the little stream, without paved roads and screeching cars. He thinks it’s the perfect house for Arthur. Arthur and his fair maiden. That breaks Arthur’s heart more than anything because the red brick house was always theirs, their perfect place and Eames always wanted it to be. He’d always dreamed of their perfect place but he doesn’t think he’ll be around long enough for them to get there. If he is, he’ll make their paradise a living nightmare and he doesn’t want to ruin everything. He’s made a mockery of Arthur’s life as it is. He can’t ruin their perfect place too.


End file.
